Honey, I Shrunk the Winchesters
by Sifaen
Summary: Basically, this is my attempt at a lighthearted de-ageing fanfic. Sam and Dean are put under a powerful fairy curse and both end up being turned into thirteen-year-olds. Awkwardness and silly things ensue when they have to figure out how to put their bodies back to normal, as well as trying to turn Castiel into a passable babysitter. (this is a non-shipping, non-slash fanfic).


Dean groaned and downed another gulp of _Sol_.

He always got pissed when the Monster of the Week turned out to be… gooey. And it had mentioned all this bullcrap about its plans for revenge, blah blah blah, some sort of fairy curse, and how they would surely be doomed in the end.

Doomed he might be, but first he was going to get a damn good night's sleep. He was even going to get under the covers, he was that exhausted.

He made a face and thought about wiping some of the ectoplasm creature-juice from his shirt, but decided to wait until Sam was done rinsing the sludge off. He'd gotten most of it kind of in the face when the thing exploded, so he'd called dibs on the shower.

Dean banged on the door and yelled at him to hurry up, he just needed to rinse the stuff off, he wasn't supposed to be having a spa day and soaking his yards of hair. Sammy yelled a nearly unintelligible "SHUT UP," from behind the door but eventually got out.

When Dean was finally showered, scrubbed clean of monster-goo, teeth brushed, and wearing his long-untouched pajamas, Sammy was already sleeping like a rock. Dean didn't bother to set the alarm for the morning, because screw punctuality for once.

To his unconscious annoyance, he wasn't able to sleep as well as he wanted, either. He kept having weird dreams about shrinking to the size of a Barbie doll and sprouting greenish, iridescent insect wings. _What the f*ck?! _Thought Dreaming Dean. He was somewhere really weird; It was like an underground castle or a cathedral or cave or something—but not like any he'd ever seen. After more confusing twists and turns, a creepy rhyme on repeat dancing through his head, and the strange sensation of his body collapsing in on itself, he finally managed to slip off into a stable rem cycle.

When he woke up, much earlier than he wanted to, the first thing that he could feel was his bones aching a dull throb like he'd just gone through a growth spurt. He gargled a throaty "Ow," and swore a good paragraph of half-assed curses in his head. His voice sounded weird.

Maybe he was coming down with a cold or something.

Awesome.

He stretched, trying not to break anything. The bed seemed bigger than it had last night. He dismissed it as a symptom of last night's insomnia.

Well, he was up and might as well make coffee and let Sammy sleep another half hour before they had to hit the road again. He forced himself up with a great deal of inward complaining and scratched his head. His pajamas must be wearing out; they'd gotten all stretched somehow.

Dean hopped down from the bed.

And with a thud fell on the floor. He'd somehow underestimated how tall the bed was. He frowned.

He stood and looked at the bed, and only became more confused.

Last night it had come up to mid-thigh on him. Now it was as tall as his belly button. Was there something wrong with his eyes?

He rubbed his face with his hands, and stopped when he felt his chin. What the hell? Had he been soaking his face in lotion all night? He hadn't shaved, but for some reason his face felt as smooth as a baby's butt.

He walked over to the bathroom mirror, his pants almost falling down—how they'd gotten so messed up, he hadn't the slightest clue.

He looked in the mirror and let out a high-pitched shriek.

There was a kid staring back at him from the mirror. Not just any kid—the kid from his chilling days as a middle-school student. It was him—probably not older than thirteen or fourteen. Rosy-cheeked, blonde, horrendously freckled Pre-pubescent Dean Winchester.

He touched his silky-smooth chin and the reflection did the same thing.

He stood there frozen for a long time, unable to blink.

"SAAAAMMMMM!"

Dean heard a _thump _as Sam did the same thing as he had earlier and fell out of bed.

"Wha…what's going on?" asked a kid's voice. Sam's head popped up from behind the bed.

Except it wasn't Sam; well, not the sideburned, late-twenties Sam anyway. Dean hadn't seen that face in years and it gave him a shock of Déjà vu and a pretty instant migrane. Seeing that it was, in fact, not some sort of post-traumatic monster-hunting dream.

Sammy—kid Sammy—stared at him for a long time.

"Dean?" he said, squinting, "Dean—you're…"

"Yeah, so're you." Dean let out an annoyed snort. "_Little Rascals_ gone bad."

Sam got up and started to walk over.

Then his pants fell down. The shirt he was wearing was now a little past his knees.

Dean laughed. "Midget."

Sam did Bitchface and gathered up the yards of now ill-fitting clothes, and stood beside Dean, looking at their reflections in the mirror.

"This is bad," Sam concluded.

Dean shook his head, trying to get the vision of their child-selves out of his head. "I need a beer."

"It's nine in the morning," Sam protested distractedly, trying to get over how short and scrawny his body was now.

"Screw mornings," Dean grumbled, grabbing a beer from the fridge and downing it in a couple of minutes.

Sam walked slowly over to the kitchen table, holding the waist of his pants in his fist. "What the hell could've done this to us?"

Dean didn't answer, he was halfway through his second beer. Sam gave him a disgusted look, then focused on the faux wood finish of the table and ran a hand through his long hair. It was probably the one thing about him that hadn't changed.

"What was it that the monster said yesterday?" he asked slowly, "The thing about Oberon's curse and time being undone?"

"How should I know?" Dean asked, his adolescent voice slurring slightly.

Sam looked over at Dean sharply. "Are you _drunk?_"

Dean laughed. "I can't be drunk! I only had one—" He paused to count on his fingers, "I mean two—beers!"

"Yeah, and you've gotten a hundred pounds lighter and a foot shorter since last night."

"Oh," Dean realized belatedly.

"Just—don't drink anymore," Sam said impatiently, turning on his computer and going over to make coffee while it booted up.

Dean walked carefully over to the table, looking slightly unbalanced, and sat down. "I'm taller than you," he said smugly.

"But still stupider," Sam retorted.

"…No.." Dean mumbled. Sam ignored him.

"Well, we're not going to be able to run very fast in these clothes if we have to make a quick getaway. We're going to have to buy some thatwill actually fit us."

"Shopping?" Dean made a noise with his mouth that sounded vaguely as if he were trying to imitate a fart, and made a face. "Ew."

Sam had to practically tackle Dean to get the car keys out of his pocket , and when he finally got into the impala he could barely see over the steering wheel.

"Great," Sam muttered to himself, cranking the seat higher.

"Hey! Don't mess up all my settings, Sandlot."

They made the trip more or less successfully—successfully meaning Sam managed not to punch Dean in between bad puns about them being stuck in kid's movies.

They got a few weird looks in the store and a few motherly-looking women asked them if they were okay, but Sam professionally waved them off while Dean looked critically at the choices of clothes in the boy's department.

"Who pays fifty friggin dollars for some kid's jeans?" he demanded of no one in particular.

Sam hit him roughly on the shoulder. "Come on," he muttered, "We've gotta get out of here quick. Get three pairs in your size, then find some shirts."

"Why do they have to put all this consumerism shit on all the t-shirts? I don't want some gay brand name emblazoned on my boobs like a friggin neon sign!"

"Pretend you're not drunk and don't make a scene," hissed Sam, seeing a plaid button-down shirt on one of the displays. The flannel calmed him somewhat. At least that was something familiar. He ignored Dean's rants and picked out a few decoration-less shirts while Dean went on about how the stupid stuff made in China probably wouldn't last more than a few weeks.

The shoe aisle was worse because Dean insisted that the only pair of comfortable shoes were an expensive set of cowboy boots. Sam told him it was the alcohol talking and that he'd feel stupid tomorrow wearing them like some redneck.

Sam let Dean stroke the faux snakeskin on the boots and piled the clothes on the counter at the checkout.

The woman behind the counter looked down at the brown-haired, soulful-eyed thirteen year old dressed in huge pajamas dubiously. "Young man, are your parents around? I don't think they'd like—"

"Oh, yeah, she's looking through the books in another section. She hates shopping."

"Young man, you certainly don't look—"

"I can pay for it—" Sam fished out a wad of cash that was hopefully not too crumpled—"My mom said I could pay for it and then meet her over by Dairy Queen's in the food court for an ice cream." He tried to look eager, innocent, and adorable.

The cashier, tired of trying to figure him out, shrugged and took the solemnly offered money. "Alright." She looked him in the eyes as she handed him the change. "But if you need help with something, you come back, alright?"

Sammy flashed a wide impish smile. "Thank you ma'am," and hightailed it as fast as possible without looking too suspicious.

After thinking for a brief and terrifying instant that he'd misplaced his shitfaced 13year-old brother, he spotted Dean holding a huge strawberry ice cream cone, slurping away at it messily in front of the Dairy Queen's.

Dean spotted Sam and held up his rapidly melting dessert triumphantly.

"Look!" Dean said happily, "Regular is $4.75. But on Thursdays, kids get anything on the menu-for a _dollar_." He sucked on the ice cream contentedly for a moment and then looked back at his brother. "Kids nowadays have it made."

"Yeah, right, and this means you wanna stay a kid forever and give up your life of sex and violence?" Sam muttered obstinately.

Dean shook his head emphatically, his baby-face sticky and lips candy-apple red from the cold ice cream. "Nuh-uh, definitely not. I'm just saying, there are some perks… Most of it involving free food…" he trailed off and started crunching down the waffle cone.

"Hey dean, what could've done this to us?" Sam asked. "I mean, that monster said it was some sort of curse involving Oberon, but I haven't seen any signs of fairies at all. It's like this sort of came out of nowhere."

Dean shrugged. "Fairies do that. They're little sneaky dicks."

"But it doesn't add up—why the hell would a fairy turn us into thirteen year olds, and then up and leave? It's not much of a curse for beings that powerful."

"Can we talk about this when I'm not wasted and full of ice cream?" Dean asked through a full mouth.

They changed into their new clothes in one of the bathrooms to avoid stares, and made their way as quickly out of the mall as possible. They looked more or less like preteen versions of their normal selves.

"Greeeaaat," Sam groaned when he saw them both in the mirror. "We're like—_Wee_-chesters…"

Dean gave him a bewildered look. "Dude, if you need to take a leak, the stall's right there."

"Wee. As in small," Sam tried to explain.

Dean just shrugged. "Don't know don't care."

The trip back to the motel was fairly without incident, except for when they had to duck while driving to avoid the glance of a cop. Even so, Sam was ready to punch Dean in the face, freckles and all, after he sang _Somebody to Love _at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking whenever the song hit a crescendo.

When they got back to the motel, Sam got back on his computer right away.

"Hey Dean, can you call Bobby for me?" he asked.

"Oh…yeah I forgot. Bobby said he'd be out of town for the next few weeks—"

"But you can't call him?"

"—In Japan," finished Dean. "Dealing with some hardcore ancestral curse or something. I don't know; it was some Japanese word and then he said 'idjit' and hung up. I don't think he has a long-distance cell plan." He shrugged.

"Damn." Sam let out a deep breath and stared at the empty Google homepage. The good thing about fairy lore is that he'd find a ton of it online. The bad part about it was that Hunters had basically zero experience with fairies and he wouldn't be able to tell 100% if the information was legitimate or just legend. It would have to be guesswork.

It was hard to sift between what was recent legend and what was actually ancient myth. There were way too many websites focused on RPGs and modern new-age cults than actual European legends.

Finally he found a few sites that looked more or less reliable. Sam found a paragraph that caught his eye:

_While many fairy curses involve sickening cattle or plaguing crops, worse fates were often suffered by those who had personally angered the fairies; especially those who had wandered into their realms and escaped. Often they would find themselves back in their own village, only to discover that seventy years had passed and the years spent with the fairies had finally caught up to them. _

_Many of fairies strange powers seem to be those involving the relative aspect of time, which passes differently for those in the fairy realm._

"Bingo," Sam said to himself.

"Got a lead?" mumbled Dean, who was sprawled on his bed, trying to sleep off the beer.

"Maybe," Sam admitted. "Not much, though. Apparently fairies have an unusual power over time and age."

"Yeah? So? Why'd they do it to us?"

"Well, I've got an idea about that too…" said Sam hesitantly.

"_What_," Demanded Dean.

"I think it may have something to do with when you got sucked onto that spaceship and went all Scarface on the fairies."

"Dude! They were gonna—they were trying to—to—_probe_ me…" Dean protested with a shudder.

"Yeah, well, when fairies get pissed, they fight dirty."

"Okay fine. How do we reverse it and get back to big us?"

Sam sighed. "That's the problem. For all the stuff I've been able to find, it all says that once you visit Fairyland, or the dimension they rule, and get back to the human world, most of the time you never see them again. Especially when they've Doctor Who'd your age."

Dean blinked. "Who?"

Sam shook his head. "Nevermind. The point is, fairies have control over time and age."

"That's weird though, to make us both…what, more or less the same age, when we're four years apart."

"Honestly I don't have any idea about that. The timing on this is pretty unusual. If our ages reversed back in time, it should've happened after you got abducted—and not to me too."

"So we could be dealing with a fairy, or we could be dealing with something we've never run across before."

"Right."

"This isn't Crowley, is it?"

"I don't think so. I think he would be here gloating if he were behind this."

Dean nodded. "Good point. Well, Bobby's out of the picture at least for now. So I guess we wait it out and try to find something at the local library until then?"

"Or…"

Dean glanced sharply over at Sam, who was grimacing. "We could…call Cas?"

Dean shook his head. "Oh no. We are _not_ calling Cas. Things are weird enough right now as it is. Plus, what would he know?"

"Dean, if you haven't noticed, we're both a little short on resources right now. Meaning we are _literally_ short and if we had an adult-sized person helping us out it would be a lot easier to get the truth out of people. You know as well as I do that nobody ever tells kids the truth."

"You want Cas to go all Magnum P.I. with us? Last time I tried to do that, he kept _staring _at the police dispatcher. Freaked the guy out. He almost blew my cover. Couldn't even hold his FBI badge right side up."

"Got any better ideas?" Sam asked stiffly.

Dean groaned. "CAAS!" he nearly shouted, his little face scrunching together, "Fly your ass down here! We got ourselves a little uh, emergency…sort of..."

There was a barely perceptible _whish_ before a familiar trenchcoat appeared mere inches behind Sam's chair.

Sam jolted. "Hi Cas," he said through his teeth. He turned around to see Cas staring alternately at the two children in the motel room, his head tilted to the side.

"Uh…did I miss something?" Cas asked in his gravelly voice.

"Oh, you have no idea," Dean said, massaging his temples.

"You look different," Cas said, confused, as his gaze shifted from Sam to Dean.

"Yeah, it's because we are suddenly thirteen year olds again," Sam replied sarcastically.

"Thirteen years and thirteen days," Cas said. "Approximately."

Dean sat up. "How do you know that?"

"All angels can tell how old a human is." Cas shrugged.

"How did you know it was us, though?" Dean asked.

"Well, it's obvious. Your freckles are in the exact same configuration, although they are more prominent than usual."

Dean blinked and shifted uncomfortably. Sam gave Dean a triumphant look. Cas turned to Sam. "And you have the same unusually triangularly shaped nose."

Sam self-consciously raised a hand up to his nose while Dean gulped, then shrugged off Castiel's awkward comments.

"Cas, the point is, we need a wingman right now," Dean said. Cas nodded slowly.

"You think you can help us out?" Sam asked hopefully, "I mean, unless you've got, you know, angely stuff to do…"

Cas shrugged. "Well, I consider the three of us bonded by a sense of fraternity, and I would of course be glad to aid if you…uh, needed me."

"Awesome. Thanks Big Bird," said Dean. The effects of alcohol were still obvious in his voice.

Cas shook his head "I'm…not a bird...but, you're welcome." He tilted his head to the side. "what exactly did you want me to do?"

Sam looked down at his toes, embarrassed. "Uh, well for now—adult supervision…"

Cas nodded, then squinted even more. "I don't understand. You are fully capable of supervising yourselves—you are, technically, still adults."

"Nobody else knows that, though," replied Dean. "And first things first, I drank the last beer this morning, so you are going to go over to the AM-PM and get me a six pack."

"And the recovery of your adult bodies requires…an alcoholic beverage purchased at a convenience store?" asked Cas. "This is not like any curse I know of."

Sam had to keep himself from groaning. "Cas, he wants you to go to the store and buy him a beer. Because he drank it all. Which is why he's _still _drunk at two in the afternoon." Sam shot Dean an angry glare, which on a 13 year old face simply looked comical.

Cas nodded slowly. "Ah. I see." But it looked like the angel was more confused than ever.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Well, for now, it would be great if you could find out if anyone you know has heard of a curse like this," he asked Cas.

Castiel tilted his head slightly to the other side. "I will do my best," he said solemnly, and a breeze suddenly blew Sam's hair into his face where Cas had been standing a moment before.

"Shifty bastard," muttered Dean.

Sam spent the rest of the day researching, while Dean sort of helped but mostly watched TV. There was a Mexican soap opera that he seemed particularly interested in. He stared at the screen, muttering a word in Spanish every once in a while. When Sam asked what the hell he was watching, he protested that there was nothing else on. After that, he eventually found _The Bulletproof Monk_ on one of the channels while Sam painstakingly read through page thirty of google results.

Finally Sam headed to bed, while Dean still watched TV. There was a _Rocky_ marathon on and it was a third through the fourth one. Sam muttered at Dean to go to bed, and finally put the pillow over his head so he wouldn't have to hear the constant New Jersey accents.

He had dreams about boxing anyway.

Dean woke up, secretly hoping that he looked like a grownup again, but the soft face and scrawny limbs were still there. He rubbed his eyes, fumbling for the clock to see what time it was, when he got a fist full of beige trenchcoat. He jolted backwards.

"Caaaaaas," he groaned, voice cracking, "why can't you just be _normal?_"

Cas was standing in front of the nightstand between their two beds, looking stoic and nerdy as always.

"I don't understand your question," Cas replied, turning to Dean.

Sam shifted in the next bed, letting out a slight groan as he started to wake up, while Dean tried to clear his vision to see Cas peering intently at him. Dean shook his head. "Dude, it's weird and creepy when you just stand there waiting for us to wake up like some sort of serial killer,"

Cas looked slightly offended. "I got back at four a.m. and thought I would wait here while you slept instead of waking you up. I was trying to be…uh…sensitive to your need of rest."

"You mean you were standing here since four in the morning?" asked Dean.

"Yes."

"Right," Dean said to himself, ignoring Cas, "That's not creepy at all." He looked over at Sam, who had just raised his head from his pillow and was squinting up at Cas.

"Cas?" he mumbled, "Cas, what're you…"

"Sam, get up," said Dean irritably, then turned to Cas. "So, you've been waiting here since four. What did you find out?"

"I travelled around the world to the various connections I have," said Cas, "Unfortunately, however, I was unable to discover anything of import. Oberon is very elusive."

"Useless baby," muttered Dean under his breath.

Cas looked hurt.

Sam plunged his head back into the pillow. "What do we do now?" came his muffled, disappointed voice.

Dean shrugged. "Breakfast?" he suggested.

Cas offered to help with breakfast, but both of the boys answered simultaneously with a forceful _No_

Finally while they were at the table eating donuts Dean had made Cas get them from the 7-11, Dean told Cas that standing there was making him nervous, so Cas hesitantly sat down on one of the beds forlornly.

"This doesn't leave us with much," Sam said, in between bites of oatmeal. "We'll have to see if there's anything at the library."

Dean made a face. "Books," he muttered, "I'm tired of books." He pouted at his cup of coffee, then took a swig. He put the cup down forcefully. "_Dammit._"

"What?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"I feel like I need to run a marathon, it's so _boring_ in here,"

"Yeah, and that's your third cup of coffee and your fourth donut. It's called a sugar high, idiot." Sam replied

Dean nodded distractedly, with rather too much emphasis. "Yeah…I remember these now. Weird. I feel so…not tired…" he tapped his foot on the floor and seemed to get an idea, then turned around to face Cas, who had been sitting quietly while they ate breakfast.

"Hey Cas…how fast can you read?" Asked Dean with a raised eyebrow.

Cas seemed confused by the question. "I'm not sure," he said.

Dean squinted. "Take out that Gideon bible from the nightstand and tell me how long it takes you to read Leviticus."

"That is unnecessary, Dean, the entire scriptures are stored in the mind of each angel."

"You mean—you memorized it?"

"No…I didn't memorize it; I already had the knowledge when I was created."

Sam seemed to perk up and have an idea. He went over to his bed, next to where Cas was sitting, and pulled John's journal out of his duffel bag. He handed it to Cas.

"Here," Sam said, "Read as much of this as you can in one minute."

Castiel nodded and took the weathered journal reverently, starting with the first page.

After sixty seconds, he had turned about eighty pages, one after the other, seemingly without stopping.

When the minute was up, he put the journal down.

"How much of that did you read?" asked Sam in awe.

"I was able to read approximately sixty pages of your father's journal," Cas answered

"You read all the words on each page?"

Cas looked mildly affronted. "of course."

"How much do you remember?"

"Those seventy-one pages."

Sam crossed his arms and nodded. "How do you kill a Wendigo?"

"Flames are capable of killing that particular kind of flesh-eating creature."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
